Marlin's Delivery
by Ciella
Summary: Marlin is forced to visit his lost love because of an order made by his rival. When they begin to talk, the logic of the romantic and the pragmatist clash.


The clapboard wall Marlin leaned against smelled bittersweetly of rust. His cigarette had a slight tear in the paper from when he got frustrated rolling it. Vesta had been nagging him about the smoking. And about his slacking. And about his staying up late. Nagging, nagging, nagging. His sister was a large, redheaded fly constantly buzzing in his ears. She was so concerned about improving his health, but she was the greatest detriment to his sanity.

Marlin took a drag and tried to think of a time when Vesta was less of a nagger. He was pretty sure he could remember her droning at him in utero. Ah, well. At least he knew he wasn't blinded by nostalgia.

Except, maybe, when he thought back to Celia. Marlin could never tell if Celia cancelled out some of Vesta's boisterous noise or if the petite, shy girl just exuded her own calm. He took another drag, exhaling through his nose. He would never forget marveling at how beautiful she could look weeding. A painful, annoying chore for him, it was an exercise in elegance for her. Her small, pale hands, with their fingers made of silk, threading through the healthy garden for tiny green invaders. A stray hair or six escaping from her bandana to hang over her high forehead in sharp contrast.

The cigarette burned his fingers. He dropped it with a grunt, snuffing it out with contempt. He smoothed his hair. It didn't matter. Everyone knew that Celia left her diary under her mattress, but only the unmarried girls respected each others' privacy. Marlin never found any reference to himself. It wasn't until Jack moved in that a man's name ever appeared in an entry.

With heavy, booted feet, Marlin made his way to the shop door, which stood half open. Its hinges were mounted too high in the frame. The ground never caught it.

"Alright, I'm ready."

Vesta didn't turn her head from where she kneeled over a crate. "You reek. How are you supposed to get better when you blow more smoke than Patrick and Kassey's fireworks?"

Marlin groaned, but didn't dare contradict her. "You said you needed me to deliver something?"

"Oh, right. Jack ordered a lot of fertilizer. Take the wheelbarrow and bring him fifty bags."

"Christ..."

"And Marlin-"

"Yeah?" He grumbled, tossing the dense green bags onto the once-red wheelbarrow. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his sister point a meaty finger at him.

"No trouble this time."

Marlin sighed.

"Do you hear me?"

"I hear you, Vesta."

"Wonderful. Now, move quickly with that, but be careful. It's an expensive order."

"Got it."

He trudged the wheelbarrow out into the waiting mist. Every autumn he had spent in Forget-Me-Not Valley had been wet, but none so much as the one three years before. He had watched Celia's diary entries concerning Jack proliferate. He saw her absent face as she dreamed about married life, or as she waited by the window for him to visit with some token gift. No matter how beautiful the weather or the season, there was always something she could remedy in Jack with another cup of tea.

The front wheel swerved when it hit a large rock, nearly tipping over in the ditch before the bridge. Marlin righted himself and grit his teeth. Jack's property grew just enough in that first year, it seemed, that no one noticed or cared that he was getting to know all the girls. He spent the spring talking to them, figuring out what they liked and what they did. It was as if Jack was running his finger down his checklist. Oh, Muffy wakes up very late? No good for a farmer's wife. And Nami wants to travel? That definitely won't do. Only Celia was left, the good girl who ran on a tight schedule and did as she was told.

It seemed natural that through the summer, Jack's gifts to the others tapered off as he focused on Celia. He said all the right things- he had obviously found her diary, too. Somehow, the newfound farmer had even worked his way onto Vesta's good side. By the time he came to ask for Celia's hand that fall, it was as if she had already been given away.

The river sighed beneath his heavy feet as Marlin trudged across. The bridge groaned and quickly fell behind. As he crossed onto Jack's property, Marlin's throat tightened. The smell of livestock, freshly mowed grass, and a few forgotten apples decaying on the ground greeted him.

"Hey," the gruff voice called from the left. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering his order. My sister sent me."

Takakura turned up his chin, raising his heavy eyebrows so that his black eyes could smolder in the twilight. "Don't linger. You're not welcome here."

Without response, Marlin approached the farmhouse. He set the wheelbarrow down and knocked on the door. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets, he listened to the pointy-eared dog snarl at him from inches away. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead by the time Celia opened the door.

"Celia!" He smiled briefly, before he noticed her little son, clutching the skirt of her dress. "I have a delivery for Jack."

"I'm pretty sure he's haggling with Van now. Why don't you come in and dry off a bit? Jack will pay you as soon as he gets in."

"Oh, I couldn't." Marlin raised his hands in blasé surrender, but the movement caused the dog to bark.

"Down," Celia ordered softly. The dog threw itself down poutingly. "Don't be silly, Marlin. You'll catch a chill. Let me make you some tea."

He left the wheelbarrow by the door, following his hostess and her son through the living room and into the kitchen. Spare but warm, the kitchen seemed to be Celia's domain as it welcomed him to sit at its table. The kettle simmered for just a moment before Celia bid her son to play in the next room.

"Have you been getting stronger?" She asked, as she took the seat next to him. "I haven't seen you in what feels like forever."

He coughed behind his hand, overly aware of his smoky stench in the savory kitchen. "A little, I guess."

"Why haven't you come to visit?"

Marlin looked away.

"I miss you, Marlin. We were such wonderful friends."

"That's just it, though," he sighed. "We weren't."

Celia's soft cheeks grew pale.

"That's not to say that I didn't love spending time with you. It's just that I cared about you, Celia." He tried to hold her hand, but she rose quickly to take the keening kettle off the stove.

"I know. But that's what I could never make you understand. That's not enough."

"How?" He accepted the tea she briskly offered. "I could've made you happy, Celia."

"I am happy, Marlin." She insisted, retaking her seat. She breathed deeply of her tea. "And that's just it. I can make do almost anywhere. I'm determined to be happy. What I wanted was to not worry, to be safe, to be secure."

Marlin hung his head over his steaming mug. Vesta had never divulged in him what caused Celia to be entrusted into her care, but he knew the circumstances must have been dire. "You could've been all of that with us, though. With me."

"No," she insisted, clasping his hand lightly. "Vesta is a good businesswoman, and she somehow kept that farm afloat. But she worked hard, not smart. Even in a valley this mild, crops sometimes fail. Given a few seasons of pests or drought, we could've starved. And who's to say it would've even gotten to that point?"

"What are you saying?"

"She loves us, Marlin, but if times got bad, she would've had to send us on our way. You back to the city, me to wherever I could rest my head." She collected herself, unwilling to let the gloss on her eyes condense into tears. "I needed to know that I would always have a place to rest my head. Jack's done that for me. Jack works smart, Marlin. Can't you see that?"

He shook his head, his black, oily hair falling into his eyes. It was true. Jack had figured out that it was more profitable to sell tree seeds than it was to sell crops, that growing livestock could be a boon when milk was refined into cheese and butter. Jack worked a fraction of the hours Vesta did, and made several times the profit. If anything were to happen to him, no doubt Celia and their son would be comfortable for years to come.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe you would just sell out like that. You're wonderful, Celia. You deserve to be loved."

"Jack does love me," she declared heatedly. "We've learned to love each other."

"What learning does it take to love someone like you?" He looked up, dark eyes large. "Tell me, Celia."

"I will," She stood, taking his mug from between his hands. "It takes an understanding of what it is to have nothing. The memory of being hungry, of being truly, deeply, desperately hungry. The anxiety of not knowing where you'll sleep that night. If you'll be safe, if you'll be warm. If anyone will ever call your name sweetly again. It takes the pain of having been treated like an animal because you don't have a dollar to your name."

"Celia..."

Her little fingers clenched into her white, bloodless palms. She shook with a quiet fury, her hair coming loose from her bandana. "Get out."

"Wait, please. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I don't see what else you could possibly mean by questioning my marriage. I won't tell you again, Marlin."

"Okay, okay." He lowered his eyes and slipped from the kitchen. He glanced at the little boy playing with his blocks. The child that he could have fathered, out of so much love.

The mist had turned to rain, which had made the wheelbarrow that much heavier. He pushed slowly over the ground, which the summer had recently baked into a hardpan. Takakura's leathery hand, with its large, knot-like knuckles, closed over the handle.

"Haven't you done enough?" He pointed to the window, through which Celia could be seen cradling her son. Her shoulders heaved. Her bandana had fallen. Marlin relinquished the wheelbarrow to the groundskeeper and started for home.


End file.
